


Monster under the bed.

by AnotherLoser



Series: Return of The Nogitsune [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Manipulation, Possessed Stiles Stilinski, Possession, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-11-15 15:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18075887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: It’s only ever been ice aside from it’s breath.  Every touch, every nudge, even just the air around it’s presence.  Cold and haunting.He shouldn’t even be able to feel like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn’t read the last one in this series- the Nogitsune is nicknamed Yako.

It’s only ever been ice aside from it’s breath.Every touch, every nudge, even just the air around it’s presence.Cold and haunting.

He shouldn’t even be able to feel like this.

It brings tears to his eyes with the intensity, a burning heat left in the wake of every touch.So cold it was hot- or so hot it was cold? Stiles can’t place which it was supposed to be.

Simply, it hurt.

He wants to feel it forever just as desperately as he wants it to stop.

And it did have to stop.However it began, there is still a twisting inside him screaming _wrong_ and a lump in his throat that makes it hard to breathe.

But there were lips mouthing at his neck.Nimble fingers slipped under his shirt and roaming.Legs knocking together with his.Behind his back a solid wall he can’t help but arch away from, chasing the sensation until his entire body was burning.

Too much.

He wakes with a gasp and a shiver.The cold heat is gone, leaving only a sheen of sweat in its place and the lone boy’s heaving chest.

[...]

“Dude, did you sleep at all last night?”

Stiles blinks.“Yeah. Why?”

“You look like crap.”He doesn’t have to look over at Scott to hear that lopsided smile in his voice.

“Gee, thanks.”

“ _How nice of him to notice..._ ”He usually did.He just didn’t usually ask.Stiles wouldn’t tell him much about it anyway, and they both knew.“ _Ironic.You slept deep this time._ ”

Scott’s step falters, head suddenly turning to his friend.“Seriously, are you okay?Your heart just like flipped out...”

“Yeah, that’s uh... That’s been happening.”He shouldn’t address it.Any of it.In truth what was rolling off his tongue wasn’t a whole lie, but it was more the truth in the past.Immediately after the first round of the Nogitsune’s attacks.When he was still getting used to the knowledge that the spirit wasn’t entirely gone.He was doing better these days, even if not in the best health still.“It’s just like heart palpitations or something.I haven’t been eating much, y’know.”Plus the regular stress in their lives.His ever present anxiety.Both go unsaid but understood judging by the look on Scott’s face.

“You can’t do that, man... Let’s get dinner tonight.Or order in- something, so I can make sure you actually do it.”

“Hey! Come on, I’m not that bad.”He protests, but there was already a smile tugging at his lips that Scott matches.

“Heart palpitations sound pretty bad, Stiles!”

If only he said something when they were actually a problem.“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

[...]

He’s alone in his room when the chill turns to ice again.Cool hands rubbing his shoulders as he sits idly at his desk.He did most of his work during home room and through lunch.Typical for Stiles especially since he began having less and less time for normal things.If he didn’t do it before he was home, it might not happen at all.

With that in mind, he doesn’t want any distraction from finishing what there was left.Not that what he wanted seemed to matter much these days.

“ _Stop pouting_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, then his shoulders.“Piss off, I’m busy.”

“ _And I’m hungry_.”

He knows already.He can feel the hunger in his core, one of the few feelings of the Nogitsune’s that never leaves no matter who was in control or what he was doing.

“Too bad.”

“ _Exactly_.”

He had a demon in his mind, and it was _petty_.

Stiles tosses his pencil down on the desk, essentially abandoning his work in favor of staring at the wall for the upcoming conversation.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?  It’s bad enough you’re always here, always... In my head.  You want me to kill someone to?  Fuck someone?  Break their bones? Skin a cat—“

He hasn’t realized his own intensity increasing until suddenly it stopped.  The wheels on his desk chair were relatively useless as long as someone was putting their weight on the seat, not allowing for any accidental or idle sliding around.  When it’s pulled back away from the desk and Stiles’ own feet drag on the floor with it, his mind momentarily feels empty.

It had never done this before.  The only presence Yako held was in his mind.  Their shared body.  It had no separate being to touch objects with, only the same one Stiles had if they traded command.

"I’m dreaming.”  The epiphany is made as his eyes blink quickly and then squeeze shut.  Hands soon beginning to tremble as he repeats the words over and over again like a mantra to save him of whatever was coming next.

And then those cold hands were on his face.  Gentle, almost like a breeze.  A soft caress.

" _Stiles, breathe..._ ”

Remarkably, he does.  The pressure firms slightly, just enough to let it feel more real.  He makes out the shape of it’s fingers, the sweep of it’s thumbs on his cheeks.

" _It’s okay.  You’re okay, Stiles.  I won’t hurt you_.”

"The- with the priests-“

" _You were trying to send me to hell.  With a couple of kooks_.”

"Punishment? That’s your justification?”

" _You tried. To kill me_.”

He wished he had a response.  Wished that his voice hadn’t begun to tremble as it did.  He still can’t open his eyes.

" _I’m not mad anymore, Stiles.  Just calm down...  Breathe with me..._ ”

He shouldn’t be able to.  Everything was normal a moment ago- as normal as it could be.  He knew where the lines were.  They were speaking, and he felt it’s touch, but such was simply what he’s grown used to.  It was confined to certain rules he could at least wrap his mind around.  There were physical limitations and even with a circumstance like this, there was logic.

It was ruined within seconds.

Everything.

" _Stay calm, Stiles..._ ”

He almost doesn’t want to.  He wants to be furious and indignant and make demands, but he can’t.

He doesn’t know what was wrong with him.

 

Yako’s hands run down his neck.  Gentle but firm, and Stiles’ head tilts back instinctively.

It’s not so cold anymore.

He feels it’s breath on his face and his own shudders coming out.

"What...”

" _You’re safe, Stiles.  It’s all okay here._ ”  He swallows.

"That’s not an answer.”

" _Do you really want one_?”  He didn’t know, not at the moment.

"Yes.”

" _Later_.”

"But...”

The front door shuts downstairs, and his eyes shoot open.  The touch is gone.  He doesn’t see the Nogitsune.  After a moment, he doesn’t hear it either.

His chair is still pulled away from the desk.

Stiles counts his fingers, finding only ten.

[...]

"Hey, Scotty.”  He greets, already hovering out of the way for his friend to enter.

Scott brings with him an air of warmth not only for his increased body temperature but the openness and the welcome atmosphere he creates.  Stiles wonders if he really emitted it to everyone or if it was simply because of their long history together, but he supposed it didn’t really matter.  He’s missed this air despite not being entirely without it recently either.

He’ll admit that it’s been too long since they’ve had a peaceful evening to themselves.

It’s just not the same as it used to be.No matter how much they both wished it was, they were different themselves.There was no escaping it.The horrors they’ve seen, the weight on their backs, it would change an adult never mind a couple of kids no older than sixteen when it started.

Stiles is waiting for Scott to realize something was still wrong with him after Yako’s first attacks.

They both knew it screwed him up, certainly.The paranoia increased.It took work to build his appetite back up.To help him sleep again.Knowing reality from fantasy.And the guilt never subsided.He did most of it alone, while everyone was recovering separately.Then under the wishful but unhelpful gaze of a few, Scott included.

They were better now, the lot of them, but not the same and no one knew it better than Scott and Stiles seeing it in each other.

There was a difference though between screwed up and actively dealing with a problem.So far no one seems to notice.Stiles contributes that to just how good of a liar he’s become; not just talking in circles anymore but acting.Maybe they didn’t want to see it anyway.Maybe they couldn’t tell the difference anymore.Maybe no one knew how to read him after everything.

It’s kind of depressing, but he supposed if he wanted them to know he should stop trying to hide it, and wasn’t that just the tag line of his life.

It makes him feel both awkward and hopeful when he's alone with the wolf like this.

" _Why don’t you tell him_?” Yako asks, knowing full well that Stiles couldn’t respond as the pair make their way towards the sofa. Video games and film was the ritual, coupled with a bag of chips and a few different candies for various sweet-fixes.  “ _Right now.  You could.  Why don’t you_?”

 The boys settle in, plug in their controllers and start up the system.

" _Do you really want him to know? To figure it out? Or do you just wish he would worry_?”

Yako’s presence lingers on the couch arm.  The furniture doesn’t squeak, doesn’t recognize that anyone was on it. How Stiles knows was simply because that was what the spirit wanted, he guessed.  The same as always when it appears.  Except usually it didn’t talk to him like this while in front of others.  Didn’t risk it.  And it turns out Yako could touch something around it, though those rules have yet to be explained.  He can see it now; being grabbed by the hair, or the coffee table kicked over, and Scott demanding answers, leaping to his feet only to find out the only danger was attached to his best friend.

Again and still.

He’s waiting for it while they play their games, banter only reminiscent of what it normally was.  All the while Yako insists, in pieces and then a monologue;

" _There’s nothing wrong with wanting attention, Stiles_."

" _Wanting someone to care... It’s a basic human desire.  You don’t have to be so ashamed of it.  You could lean on him, couldn’t you? Like you used to_?"

" _He's not that different.  He always looked the other way when you wanted to hide.  Let you talk him in circles.  Respecting your privacy of course..._ "

" _His dad was a drunkard too.  He probably saw the signs.  He knew how much it hurt.  Let you grieve in peace and in his hopeful little brain he probably told himself it wasn't the same as when Mr. McCall got drunk and started fighting with mommy.  Your dad was the sheriff, and he loved you, except he didn't.  How long were you fending for yourself_? _You say your fine, you both doubt it at least, Scott says okay but at least he'll hug you when you're sad_."

" _He's not so different now.  Hoping you're okay but not really wanting to ask.  It doesn't matter how much he hurts too, he'll keep telling himself it's not so bad, and surely Stiles is okay.  He has to be.  Right?  But you can't change that now.  Go ahead, lean on him.  Wolves run warmer than humans do.  You're cold, aren't you?  I'd apologize, but I can't help it.  He'd wonder why you're so cold.  Why you're shaking..._ "

They successfully make it two hours.  Stiles doesn’t talk as much as he usually would during gameplay, troubled enough by hearing both Yako’s voice periodically as well as Scott’s without adding his own in the middle.  He was so good at pretending though, and just as both he and his shadow know, Scott was hesitant to point out little things anyway.

He did promise to make sure Stiles ate dinner though and so ordering in warrants a break.  Time to use the toilet, decide on food, refresh their drinks. Stiles easily talks him into Chinese, knowing full well that nothing they could order would please the ancient Japanese demon lurking so presently today.

It would be more satisfying if the spirit seemed to care about anything other than Scott at the moment.  Or at least if his hands weren’t actually shaking by now, but they were, and the chill on his back was unmistakable.

It was all a ruse.  A game.  A ploy.  He wasn't so stupid as to think Yako truly had his best interest in mind alone, but it was hard to ignore the words.  Hard to look at his best friend - his brother - and not wonder if there was some semblance of truth to the spirit’s statements, though he himself insists there isn’t.

[...]

It’s hot and cold again.  His skin freezing and his insides boiling.

It’s painful but so, so good.

There’s nothing to lean on this time, barely even a sense of the floor beneath his feet.  There’s no where to hide, out in the open like this.  The sensation throughout his skin moves all over, heightened with the touch of wandering hands leaving aftershocks and static in their wake.

He doesn’t try to see it, to place it, to stop it.  All he can do is try to breathe and even that feels like so much work; his chest heaving with the effort, mouth gaping to greedily take in all he can.

Too much, too much... and still not enough.  Not how he needs it.

" _I know what you need, Stiles... What we both need_.”  It whispers against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine that leaves him feeling like he was on uneven ground.  It’s voice was different though- it echoes in a way it shouldn’t, overplayed with a different tone entirely like two people trying to speak at once.  It wasn’t right but Stiles was still spinning, knees weak, like he was about to drop into god knows what.

He wakes with a start.


	2. Chapter 2

As much as he would hate to admit it, this is far from the first time he's found comfort in the thing.

It was the same creature that tormented him.  Haunted him.  Used his body once before and ripped so many lives apart.  Stiles doesn't forget that.  Not the death.  The fear.  The absolute terror before he even knew what was going on.  How it manipulated his nightmares every time he woke screaming bloody murder.  How it made him question his sanity so many times...

He still does.

The nightmares still happen.  Not as often, not as deep, but like a cruel reminder of what was and what could be, they continue.  There didn't seem to be a pattern; sometimes his dad was home, sometimes he wasn't.  Sometimes he had to scream himself awake, sometimes he didn't.

Half the time it takes hours to sort out whether or not he was awake or if it was another trap.  Time moving in a blur, his hands shaking slightly, movements and words automatic.  It was almost like he wasn't in control, except when he really focused he knew he was the one controlling the movement.  Conversation helps, usually letting him pass through the mornings in a sort of daze until he gets to school and talks to Scott or Lydia or Malia long enough to come back to himself.

When it's not the nightmares, it's the fever.  There's no doubts about real or not then; every last thing in those dreams was so surreal there was no mistaking it no matter how intense the sensations were.

Stiles had his guesses as to why the Nogitsune has softened it's methods.  For the most part they've been confirmed, but the spirit liked it's mind games too much to be blunt if it didn't feel a need to be.

He isn't entirely grateful.

For every moment like this, he knows it was the same creature.  And every time he lets himself think on how accustomed to it he's become, he hates himself for it.

He should be fighting with every breath.  Rejecting the thing every second of every day, no matter what it takes.

But he was just so tired long before this point, Stiles only has so much fight left for it.  There were lines he refused to cross, or so he tells himself, but even when his stomach was rolling and his eyes were stinging as he sat on his hands and knees to scrub blood out of a motel's carpet, Stiles still didn't fight with the Nogitsune over it.  He knew the risk going in, he accepted it going out.

Maybe he really was weak.  It hardly seems to matter these days.  Stiles wakes one of those three ways, from a nightmare or a fever.  Or goes through the motions.  Goes to school.  Replies half-heartedly as the spirit strikes idle conversation until school begins.  It rarely speaks in front of others, though there were times, and in those times Stiles does his best not to react to it.  He must be getting good because no one notices.  Not even Scott, not even Lydia.  The one who knew him best and the one who was most observant.  Everyone and anyone involved in the messes that have arose since that one night in the woods all had their own problems, their own grief and stress to deal with, but on the surface things seemed fine.  Stiles can feel how some locals have grown weary since attacks became more and more common.  He hears the whispers of his peers spreading rumors about who really did what.

Lydia was still branded as crazy underneath her perfection.  Stiles was a head case, always a trouble maker and after his trip to Eichen House- they thought he was crazy, some thought he must be dangerous.  Scott was still assumed to be on steroids of some kind since he was bitten, and his sanity was questioned for sticking with the other two.  Malia was either thought to be too naive for normal high school or a similar danger as Stiles, depending on who you asked, thanks to her disappearance as a child, then reappearance and subsequent hospitalization.  Liam was a ticking time bomb.  Mason was eye'd for association.  Kira was either hiding something or simply didn't know any better.

They were disasters, and by now Stiles thinks no one would be surprised to hear if any of them truly did commit a murder.  It wasn't all talk though; many people were paranoid underneath it all.  Many were in denial or simply uncaring of other's problems, that was true as well, but it didn't do much to stop the change in the air.  Everyone was burdened.  Everyone learns to cope however they have to.

No one notices what was still lying in wait, and he was used to that too.

It's all become so normal.  How his day begins, how school caries on, how he watches others sometimes simply idle and sometimes because he wasn't sure if they were real.  How none of them watch him, save for the occasional weary eye.  Lying to his father again the way he lies to everyone, except now even the sheriff doesn't seem to pick up on it like he did not so long ago.  The guilt he feels for doing it anyway.  All the way to how Yako touches him after dark.

He also knows it had nothing to do with the sun being up or down.  By the end of the day he was more tired, was all.  Even if he was restless and couldn’t sleep he was still tired.

Sometimes he runs to put it off.  To burn energy and use his body how he chooses until it’s all he can feel.  Sore and exhausted but undeniably his.  He started the habit before he knew Yako was still there to begin with, after the first attacks.  Still jumpy and afraid and feeling so helpless- he ran for hours no matter how late, what he had to do in the morning, or how little he ate the day before.  If that wasn’t right he sat on his bedroom floor and worked until his abs burned, until his arms couldn’t hold him anymore.

Who knew all he had to do to take his fitness seriously was another major trauma.

Yako nags him about it, but leaves him alone while he’s in the process.  It seems to understand he’ll only go harder and be angrier if it interrupts, so it waits until morning to protest and complain about his diet and sleeping habits.  As if it wasn’t the sole cause for all of this in the first place.

It still holds him when he’s done.  Sweaty and aching and out of breath, collapsing into bed with a red face being cooled by a phantom touch.

Stiles never sleeps better than those nights.

 

And then there were nights like this; lied down at a reasonable hour, no messages to worry about, his dad safe in his own bed in preparation for the morning shift, no other threats in town they were aware of.  Stiles is still awake, though groggy, and with his eyes closed it’s as if he were sharing the bed with Yako.  It’s warm and cool at the same time.  Comfortable in a way nothing else seemed to have the ability to be.

"How do you do this?” He asks eventually, voice low and gentle.  “How do you feel real...?”  Yako sighs, breath soft against the back of Stiles’ neck.

" _I’m just as real as you are, Stiles.  We share the vessel, but I’m not a figment in your head_.”

"But moving things without my body...”

" _I’m anchored to you.  I reside mostly inside of you, always.  But my spirit is still that; a spirit.  Like any ghost wandering this earth, sometimes I reach out without the use of a host.  Only I can have yours, I can’t stray from yours, and only you can access me- hear me, see me.  It’s all a matter of my energy, my strength and focus._ ”

He wasn’t sure what else he expected.  It made enough sense, given the context.  Maybe he just didn’t think he would actually get an answer.

"Why me?”  Another puff of breath hits his neck.

“ _We could be so much... So strong, Stiles.  You don’t realize what you could be- even still_.”

“Maybe our ideas of strong are different.”

“ _Maybe.  But my point stands.  You have potential you haven’t touched.  Potential you wouldn’t touch without me.  I saw it the moment I saw you... The three of you.  The wolf- even if not for his status, he wasn’t an option for me.  He couldn’t do what we needed and survive.  And the huntress... She was strong, like you, but a tough heart only goes so far.  She would have done without you, but you, Stiles... You were perfect.  You are perfect.  That no one else sees it was only a small obstacle of your life that you don’t need to worry about anymore._ ”

His eyes open slowly.  Weary.  Ribs feeling stiff and eyes stinging lightly.

"Why can’t I see you? When we’re like this.  I feel you but I don’t...”

" _You’ve never looked_.”

[...]

The sheriff station was like a second home right up until his mothers death. Countless hours spent doing homework before she realized that it was easier to just do it in the school building.Christmas cookies made by Stiles and Claudia delivered to each desk by the boy himself as he waited for his dad’s long shift to end, other employees coming and going all the while. They hosted barbecues for the entire station, went to gatherings between the police officers and the firefighters, the entirety of Beacon Hills law-enforcement had seen Stiles growing up from infancy until age ten.The day she died changed everything. Before that even, when she was diagnosed the shift began. She wasn’t herself anymore. Not all the time anyway.But they didn’t quite know what that entailed.

Walking into the station now is still familiar as ever, eyes scanning over the room, noting the new faces replacing ones that have fallen since the Nemeton was awoken. It’s familiar, but not the same.

He greets every desk he passes with a polite smile and nod on the way to his dad’s office, entering with a quick knock and a takeout bag held out immediately.

“Hey daddio.”

“That smells like grease.”The sheriff raises a brow, sat back in his seat as Stiles takes one across from him and sets the bag on the desk.“What’d you do?”

“Is it really so hard to believe I just wanted to treat my old man?Good to see you too, by the way.”

"I saw you this morning."

"That was yesterday."

"What? No it wasn’t."

"This is the first morning shift of the rotation- I was asleep when you left, but not when you got home the morning before."  Stiles gives a single, pointed tilt of his head before shifting again; eyes darting about briefly, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.  "Anyway, eat up.”

Stiles has a serving of fries for himself, nibbling deliberately while his dad eats a sandwich and chips.  His habits don’t accommodate snacking very well; he ate fast no matter what, could go long periods in between meals before wolfing down the next thing set in front of him.  He’s trying to make the fries last though because they’re all he’s eating tonight and doesn’t need his dad to think too hard on it.

" _He will anyway, you know.  The dutiful father and all that._ ”

He knows, and he’s heard it before from Yako. The sheriff always worried, even when he didn’t show it.  Even when he was drunk every minute he was actually home, he still nagged Stiles about eating and sleeping and doing his work.  It just didn’t matter because of the timing and the package it was wrapped up in, but after the fact it was a part of why Stiles forgave him when he got sober.

Ironic how he commented more when he was a moment away from either crying on his son’s shoulder or shoving it into a wall than he did now, knowing the kind of things he’s been through.

" _Do you want him to ask though? Or do you just want him to know? To read your mind?  You could tell him_.”

Of course he could, but he won’t.  Just like with Scott.  Just like with Melissa, even.  The rest of the pack- even the more impartial Derek.  He could tell them what was going on.  Even just parts of it.  But it didn’t matter in the end.

" _What would they do? Tear us apart, lock us away.  They don’t care about your sleeping habits and you know it.  As soon as you mention me it won’t be about you anymore- it’ll be about the demon.  The monster, and what it does.  Not how it hurts you if they tried to separate us again_.”

Even that, he knows he should take it with a grain of salt.  It was a demon talking to him.  Something that fed on strife.  Pain.  But Stiles has come to the same conclusion on his own before, with this, and with other things.  Yako was right.

"Really, Stiles, everything okay?”

"Yeah, fine.”

[...]

It wasn’t the easiest shopping list to follow only because of where he was located.  Beacon Hills California wasn’t some tiny backwards town, but it wasn’t a hub of diversity either.Only three students in the entirely of Beacon Hills High were known to be out of the closet, but in fairness the student body as a whole already seemed to be over it.The racial demographic was much closer in percentages and changing constantly as families came in and out for whatever their reasons, but it certainly wasn’t enough for the closest grocery store from Stiles’ house to have what Yako lined out for him to make.

The teen certainly didn’t mind a drive farther out though; Roscoe was a precious gift, though he may not last forever without major assistance the Stilinski’s couldn’t spare.The time to drive through Beacon Hills without a rush, without obscure dread or another passenger to worry about made up for that.The scenery truly was nice, and not all quiet was bad.

Stiles has the radio playing quietly in the background, barely audible with the windows cracked to let in fresh air as he goes.He can feel Yako lurking, as if spread out in the backseat, though Stiles still doesn’t look.

“ _What are you gonna tell the old man?_ ”

“About dinner?That it’s supposed to be good for the heart or something.He’ll buy anything diet related I say, especially if I say I was bored.”It might be sad in this context that Stiles could use his concern over his father’s long term health as a tool for his lies, but it was true and those were the cards he had.No reason not to use them.

Yako hums in the backseat, sounding all too amused with that simple statement.  " _It is mostly meat and vegetables anyway_."  He points out, and he was right.   Sekihan, beef stir fry, and though he was sure that was enough food Stiles already agreed to trying his hand at homemade chicken dumplings as well.  Really it was just the mochigome and the shiitake mushroom stalling the meal, but if he was going to spend so much time on the food, he wanted to make sure it was right.  If that meant a longer drive with nothing but his _head-mate_ keeping him company, that was just how it was.

 

Preparing the meal goes similarly.  
Stiles is alone in the house, Yako guiding him through the process from behind his back.  Again like he was there, hovering just out of sight, but well aware that the human wouldn't dare look his way.  Stiles focuses adamantly on the food to ignore that fact.  It takes longer than anything else he's ever made, and the rice even had to soak overnight before he could begin.

The time passes easily though.  Surprisingly easy, in fact.  Before he knows it the sun is beginning to set, Stiles is serving himself a late lunch, and there's an almost eerie calm to the air.

The kind of calm that comes in his dreams, right before he realizes what they were.

The sort of thing that makes him count his fingers before digging in with his chopsticks, just in case.  Just because he shouldn't be this at ease during a day not only featuring Yako but focused entirely around him.   The spirit doesn't point it out.

When the sheriff comes home, Stiles' explanation works just as he'd expected, and Yako remains quite while father and son converse about their days.

[...]

_ It’s all encompassing, as it is every time; the chill, the burn, each taking turns washing over his body in waves.  Following phantom touches, flowing under his clothes and across his skin. _

_ It’s too much- he can’t breath steadily like this, torn between some obscure fear and contentment. _

_ The illusion of his shirt is gone.  His head lulls back and the fingers tracing his ribs grow more firm. _

_ He can’t tell which way is up.  If he’s against a wall or the floor or a mattress, but he knows he can’t back up.   _ _ Maybe that’s the point regardless whatever the rest of this means; there’s no where to go but forward into it.   _ _ It’s grown familiar enough by now he isn’t sure he’d want to run anyway. _

_ Fingers become palms.  Hands and arms wandering, pushing, pulling.  Stiles only has to hold his own above his head and the rest is done without input.  Something hot ghosts over the skin of his collarbone, and then up just neck.  Those icy hot hands grip his waist and seem to cut into him. _

_ The heat is it’s breath.  It’s lips and tongue almost scalding against his own, but comforting like a steaming shiver after a snow day.  Stiles melts. _

_ His arms lower, drape over the thing’s back and rest there.  He feels it’s body now, solid against his own.  Moving fluid and firm and smooth, no trace of any restrictions between them. _

_ ”I know what you need...” It- he whispers to him just before nipping at his lower lip.  “Let me give it to you, Stiles... Let us make it better...” _

_ His throat vibrates and it takes a moment for the human to realize it was a noise.  A whine come from his own body absently. _

_ ”That’s it...”  His body begins to tremble, with the conflicting feelings or deep sensations or both, either way becoming too much for him to handle.  It was confusing and overwhelming, it hurt yet it healed.  He felt like his air was being stolen from his lungs, yet he’s never felt more alive. _

_ ”Please...” He whispers, and though their voices are similar he knows that this one was himself, even if he isn’t sure what he was asking. _

_ ”Just breathe, Stiles... Breathe, and let go.” _

_ He does. _

_ Taking greedy gulps of air as his insides are lit on fire and every nerve seems to hum. _

_ He listens, he squirms, he pulls on the other with trembling limbs and when he opens his eyes... _

There's cum drying on his stomach, a body not unlike his own on top of him, their limbs tangled together and finally, Stiles sighs in relief.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to comment suggestions/requests for voiles scenes in the future feel free to leave them on really any work in this series, I will see them, and I'd love input


End file.
